


She Says Thank You

by PariPassu



Series: Birdland [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cages, Collars, Complete, F/M, Forced Abortion, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, Police, Slavery, Urination, math joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6865330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PariPassu/pseuds/PariPassu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake Peralta is a small town detective and slave rehabber who gets an unusual project, an erection, and his files organized.</p><p>Basically, this is what happens when a non-submissive slave meets a non-dominant master.  They actually have fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. D Project

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies -- this is only very tenuously connected to Brooklyn 99. I like to think it's Jake after a big glass of grow up juice. This was also inspired by "To Bend, Not to Break" by dont_hate_me01, a work I respect but thought might be different if the slave was not so malleable.
> 
> I think the story is complete if you stop at the end of part one, but if you would like to see more than Jake's point of view, I invite you to read part two, which is also complete.

_Because I'm sucker, that's why_ , Jake thought to himself as the orderlies unloaded the cage with the rehab project. He got the call an hour ago that the Authority Center had a slave who needed "a few months" of training before it could be resold. A "D" project – discipline problems. As a cop, he was their go-to trainer for D projects and, he knew – and they knew – he was a sucker for rehabs.

7:00 am was a hell of a time to take a delivery. He watched the orderlies wheeled the cage back into his playroom as he drank his coffee. The cage was medium-sized and the slave fit in it easily. A not-very-big woman. They usually sent him women, which was fine with him. But a small woman with a discipline problem? That's not very common.

She was naked except for a collar, which was usual. Awake and not drugged – unusual. No shackles on in the cage – unusual. Jake was intrigued.  
The orderlies made him sign a receipt and gave him a thick file with her history. Thick files were unusual. This was his kind of case. He finished his coffee and closed the front door behind the men. Time to say hello to this slave in his playroom.

He took a glance her name on the file. "Elena," he said to the woman. "How do you say it? 'Eh-lay-nah' or 'Ell-en-ah'?"

_However the fuck you want_ , she thought to herself. Clearing her throat, she said "Eh-lay-nah."

"I am your new master," Jake said. "You may address me as 'master.' This is my playroom, where you will receive your discipline and your punishment. Every day, you will count the number of mistakes you made and you will receive punishment for each one. This is different from discipline, which you will receive at my discretion, and is for your benefit . . ."

She tuned him out. Nothing she hadn't heard before. Nothing she cared about.

He finally noticed the caged woman wasn't paying attention and kicked the cage. "Did you get that?" he shouted.

She didn't respond.

He flung the door of the cage open and dragged her off the thin pad covering the cage bottom. He stood her upright and bent down to glare at her. She stood, expressionless, and stared at the floor.

"I said 'did you get that?'" he said loudly.

She glanced at his face and returned her gaze to the floor.

"When I ask you a question, you will answer!" he shouted. He spun her around and bent her over a padded bench. Pressing down on her upper back, he spanked her ass with his large hand. "Count!" he shouted at her.

Sighing, she said "one." 

Whack.

"One."

Maybe she thought the first one didn't count.

Whack.

"Two."

Whack.

"Three."

Whack.

"Five."

"Four!" he said.

Whack.

"Eight."

"Five!" he shouted.

Whack.

"Thirteen," she said.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he said, spinning her around. "What the fuck?"

She looked him in the eye. "Fibonacci sequence," she said.

He looked at her. He knew he was angry. He knew it was inappropriate to discipline a slave while out of control emotionally. He needed to suspend this activity and return to it later when he was calm. That would be good for both of them.

"Get back in there," he said and pushed her back into the cage and locked it. He was breathing heavily. She wasn't. She was lying on the floor of the cage, looking at him without expression.

He walked to the door and looked back at her. She was still looking at him. He turned out the lights and shut the door. Let her think about her new master. Let him calm down.

He went into the study and turned on the laptop. What the hell was the Ribbonakki sequence?


	2. Twist Tie

His house was only a few blocks from the police station, so he walked over and sat at his desk in the detective bureau. It was still pretty early and there were only a few people around. The *Fibonacci* sequence was a mathematical series of numbers, he'd discovered. But why the hell would a slave know that and why would she think it's appropriate to count that way in front of her master? He knew she'd been owned before. Had she never had traditional discipline? What kind of masters did she have? 

Unfortunately, he'd left her file at home, so he couldn't find out until later.

Later . . . later . . . late. How did it get so late? He got to his desk at, what, 8:30? Suddenly he looked at the clock and it was 6:00pm. He got involved with his open cases and talked to his lieutenant about a few things and then. Shit. That slave had been alone for a long time.

He walked back into his house and didn't hear anything. When he opened the door to the playroom, he smelled it. Urine. He'd left her alone and she'd pissed herself. Damn. Bad trainer. What had he been thinking?

He turned on the light and walked over to her cage. She hadn't moved. Still looking at him with a blank face and no expression. He bent down and opened the door of the cage.

"Come on out," he said.

Slowly, she wiggled backwards and got to her hands and knees. She looked at him and she stood up. She put her hands behind the small of her back and stared at the floor again.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to say. He was a experienced trainer and had rehabbed slaves before. But this was a new one.

"I am your master. You need to understand that I will control your life. You need this," he said.

She made a small sigh. "No, I really don't," she said.

"What?" he said, surprised that she would contradict him so openly.

"I know how to be a slave. I don't need this," she said, pointing with her chin to all the discipline equipment in his playroom without lifting her eyes from the ground.

"You didn't show me the proper respect . . . " he started to say, but then trailed off. She was standing quietly, her eyes on the ground, and her hands crossed at the small of her back. That was actually respectful. Maybe she did know what to do.

Acting on a sudden impulse, he said "Elena."

She lifted her eyes to his face.

"What do you need?" he said. 

The silence stretched between them. He had never asked a slave that question before. She probably had never been asked it, given the wary expression as she studied his face.

"Food, drink, a shower, and sleep," she said quietly.

Food. Shit. She probably hadn't eaten all day. He felt like a big time fuck up. She was right. He wasn't giving her what she needed and that wasn't good training. Time to fix this.

"Ok," he said. "Follow me."

He paused to throw the pad from the cage in the laundry room and then walked down the hall to the kitchen. She walked quietly behind him. He stopped in the middle of the room and she moved to kneel by the counter.

"Sit up on those stools," he said. His kitchen was too small for someone to kneel on the floor.

Keeping her eyes on the ground, she sat on the stool with her eyes down and her hands in her lap.

He made two ham and cheese sandwiches with mayo and mustard, poured a glass of ice water for her, and opened himself a beer. He put their dinners on the counter between them and sat on the stool across from her.

Without looking up, she said "thank you for offering me this food and drink, master," but otherwise didn't move.

"You may eat," he said. 

She glanced up at him to make sure he was serious. He nodded. She began eating her sandwich as fast as she could without choking and drained the water. Dinner over in three minutes. When she was done, she turned her hands to her lap and her gaze to the counter top. "Thank you for allowing me to eat this food and drink, master," she said.

That was interesting. Not only did she have a master before, he must have been very strict. Not many slaves he'd rehabbed had thanked him before and after a meal or waited for permission before eating. She sat perfectly still while he finished his sandwich and beer.

"That was food and drink. Now a shower," he said.

She followed behind him as he went up the stairs to the master bedroom, never lifting her eyes from the floor.

"Through there," he said, pointing to the master bathroom. "Towels are under the sink, soap and shampoo in the shower, leave the door open," he said.   
She nodded and he moved to the bed to watch her. As she washed, he undressed and got under the covers.

She silently asked permission to bring a comb into the shower, which was unusual, but otherwise did as he had told her to. After a fairly short shower, she came out and dried off, squeezing the water from her hair, which he could now see was pretty long. She braided it so it hung over her shoulder and looked around for something to put on the end. He rummaged around on his messy nightstand for a while. 

"This ok?" he said, offering her a twist tie.

That got a tiny smile. She nodded and solemnly took the tie and twisted it around her hair.

"Come here," he said, gesturing to the bed.

She moved to curl up at his feet.

"No, here," he said, patting the spot next to him.

She moved to lie next to him, on top of the covers.

"Underneath," he said.

She got under the covers with him and, watching his face, moved to lie flush against his naked body. She was cold and damp and he was surprised to learn he did not want to fuck her at all. Normally he made a point to sleep with his rehab projects on the first night but tonight he just wasn't feeling it.

Instead he wrapped his arm around her and began to stroke her back and the top of her ass. He liked the feel of her tits against his chest and didn't even mind her damp hair against his shoulder. She had her fists underneath her chin and was stiff and serious. 

"Sleep," he said. 

She closed her eyes. "Thank you, master," she said.


	3. Weary

He woke up in the morning and had a brief anxious thought that he was late for work and then the great feeling of relief when he realized it was his day off. Then he felt the bed next to him and had another anxious thought.

Where was she?

He sat up and looked around the room. There she was – kneeling by the sliding doors to the deck, her butt flat on the soles of her feet, looking out the glass door into the neighbor's yard, and leaning her head against the wall.

He rested on his elbow and looked at her. She was older than he thought – maybe late twenties. She had some scars, especially on her lower abdomen.   
She was still naked except for the Slave Authority collar. He needed to get his collar on her with his contact information in case something happened. 

Her expression was sad. No . . . weary. That was it. Just tired of life.

"What are you looking at?" he asked her.

"The neighbors' children playing on the swing set," she said.

"Do you have any children?" he asked, curiously. Those weren't scars on her abdomen. They were stretch marks.

She looked at him with the same weary expression. "Not really," she said.

That was weird. "Not really?" he said.

She licked her lips and then shifted her gaze back out the door. "My third master liked to get me pregnant," she said. "He would let me think of names and said I could keep it . . . but when I started to show . . . he would end it." She paused. "The . . . they were too small . . . it was too early . . . and they didn't live." She looked at him. "So . . . not really any children."

"How many times?" he said. "How many pregnancies?"

"Eight," she said. 

Eight forced abortions? In, what? The fifth or sixth month? Third master sounds like a real piece of shit, he thought.

"I buried most of them," she was saying. "But the last one . . . it didn't come out and I couldn’t stop bleeding, so Master left me at the Authority.   
They said I had too many scars and they fixed it so I couldn't have children and I didn't get my period any more. Which is good, I guess . . . "

She kept looking out the window.

Ugh. That's just . . . hard to think about. "How many masters have you had?" he asked her. He should really read her file before too long.

She looked at him and then dropped her gaze respectfully. "You are my fifth Master, sir," she said.

Well, it's time to take that "no need for birth control" thing out for a spin. "Come up here," he said, patting the bed next to him. He was getting hard looking at her and thinking about how her naked body would feel against him.

She quickly moved back under the covers and pressed against him, opening her legs. He slid into her cunt and began to thrust. She pressed her lips together and hummed quietly, saying "thank you, Master. That feels so good. Thank you for letting me please you." 

It was a little distracting, but it didn't slow him down and he came pretty quickly.

"Thank you for fucking me, Master," she said.

OK, the constant thanking was getting old. "You don't need to thank me all the time, Elena," he said.

She looked at his face to see if he was serious and then nodded. "I will clean you, Master," and ducked down to suck his cock clean. That was a nice touch.

"Ok," he said, getting out of bed. "Let's see what there is for breakfast."


	4. Singing

He rooted around in his desk and found a collar with his contact info and put it around her neck. The Slave Authority one was disposable and he threw it away. He fried up a couple of eggs and made toast, but he needed to go to the convenience store down the street or there would be nothing for lunch or dinner.

She sat quietly on the stool while he cooked and ate her breakfast quickly when he gave it to her. She did not thank him for anything, for which he was grateful. 

He thought about her as she ate. She was well trained, really. Not acting out at all. Why had the Slave Authority marked her case with a D? Maybe she was sneaky or crafty in some way that he was missing. He needed to give her a little freedom so he could see what she did with it.

"Ok," he announced. "I am going down the street to the Quik-Mart. I'll be back soon. Do the dishes and clean the kitchen when I'm away."

She nodded. He watched but she didn't seem excited or nervous that he was leaving her alone. Probably meant she didn't have big plans for escape or mayhem. That was interesting.

He went out of the house and locked the door behind him. None of the doors could be opened from the inside without a key and none of the windows opened wide enough to get through. Probably not ideal from a fire safety standpoint, but safe to leave a slave alone. None of his rehab projects had ever found a way to get out of his house. There was no landline, his gun was in a safe, and he was taking his phone with him. Ready for the experiment.

He went two doors away to the Quik-Mart and picked up some more lunch meat and bread. Dinner was gonna be frozen pizza. He got more beer. Ten minutes later he was back on his own porch, coming through the door silently. He needed to see what she would do when his back was turned.

Singing. She was singing. A pop tune from about five years ago. It was nice; she had a nice voice. He looked through the open door into the kitchen and saw she was elbows deep in sudsy water, scrubbing the dishes, and loading them into the dishwasher.

"Hey! What are you sing—" he started to say. 

She screamed. She whirled around, wide-eyed, and pale. Moving faster than he could actually see, she dropped to the ground and slid sideways under the open door of the dishwasher. He could hear her whispering something over and over but couldn't make out exactly what she was saying.

He didn't know people could actually fit under a dishwasher door. He crouched down to look at her. She was pressing her chest and crotch against the tiles with her arms and legs splayed as far as they would go. She was face down whispering "this slave is sorry, master. This slave does not sing, master. You will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts. This slave is sorry, sorry, sorry, master. Please forgive this slave, master. This slave does not sing, master." Over and over.

She was shaking violently. Sweat was pouring off her. And piss. He smelled piss again. Holy crap. OK, this was not normal. Pissing yourself is not normal. This was beyond the standard respect and submission. This was fear – actually, this was terror. Somebody – some master – terrorized this woman because she sang. This rehab project was getting into some deep, deep shit.

He slowly pushed the dish rack back in and closed the dishwasher door but she didn't seem to notice. He tried to put his hand on her back and she flinched and tried to crawl backwards under the cabinets. She hadn't stopped whispering and apologizing. He thought for a second and then went into the study and got the polar fleece blanket off the couch. He opened it out all the way and just put the whole thing over her, covering her completely.   
Maybe it would make her feel safe. For the second time in as many days, he didn't know exactly what to do.

Yeah, it was time. He needed to read that thick file she came with.


	5. Dimples

For all the paperwork the file contained, it had darn little information. Lots of bullshit certificates for training classes the Authority made her attend like what to do if she's exposed to rabies or how to wash a chicken. There was no registration of her birth, no sales records, and no health history except for once when she was 14, when her master brought her to the Authority to get antibiotics for a cough. Then nothing again until piece-of-shit Master Number Three gave her to them after that last abortion. Then somehow she went to Master Number Four, who had her for about a year before she started a house fire and he turned her back to the Authority with a big D for discipline problem. Then onto Master Number Five, Jake the Sucker.

House fire. That was interesting.

Also interesting was her age. She was 29. The Authority euthanized slaves 30 or older, so if she was turned in again, she would die. Her next master would probably be her last. The Authority was legally obligated to disclose she had been a discipline problem, even if he rehabbed her, so Master Number Six would probably be the kind of guy who liked to use a little extra force with his slaves. And considering she was currently pissing herself in fear, this would not end well. Not well at all. Hmmm. That's a lot to think about.

He heard a small noise and looked up. She was standing in the doorway, holding the folded blanket.

"Are you ok?" he asked her.

"Yes, master. Thank you for the blanket, master," she said quietly. "I finished cleaning the kitchen, master. May I go . . . clean myself?" 

"Yeah, go ahead," he said. "And then come back here and talk to me about what happened."

A few minutes later, she was back, kneeling by his desk with her eyes on the floor. He looked down at the top of her head from his swivel chair and considered what to ask her.

"Was that from Master Number Three again?" he said.

"Master Number Four, sir," she said.

"No singing?" he asked.

"Definitely no singing," she said.

"Tell me about that house fire," he said.

She glanced up at him. She shook her head. "I don't know much about it, sir," she said. "I know it was pretty bad. There were a lot of trucks."

"How did it start?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said.

That was odd. "How did you start the fire?" he asked more clearly.

She looked at him, puzzled. "I didn't," she said.

"Your master said you started a house fire and that's why you went to the Authority with a D on your record," he said.

She stared at him. "That's . . . that's . . ." She shook her head and stared at the empty fireplace. He could see her getting mad. "I can't believe . . . considering I was naked and handcuffed to a tractor in a shed 100 yards away from the house and *unconscious* when the fire started, I'm not really clear how I was supposed to have accomplished this."

She's very articulate when she's angry, he noticed. Spits the words right out. He thought for a second. Again, the urge to ask a strange question overcame him.

"How do you think it started?" he asked.

She was still mad enough to answer without considering how he would react. "He had another slave, a man, and Master used to play with shocking the slave with bare wires. It made a lot of sparks, so I guess a spark landed on something and caught fire," she said.

"The fire marshal didn't find any bare wires or equipment like that," Jake said.

She snorted. "Master is the fire chief," she said.

Ah, that explains a lot. There was no way a fire chief could admit to starting a fire in his own home, so the slave in the shed had to take the fall.   
Interesting!

And it meant she was not a discipline problem. But there was no way he could get the D off her record without proving her story, which was pretty unlikely. Hmmm.

"Let me see that kitchen," he said.

After admiring the stellar job she did on his mountain of dirty dishes and grimy appliances, she started twisting her hands and shifting her weight from foot to foot. She wanted to ask a question.

"Yes?" he said.

"Sir – Master, are we far from a Smith's?" she asked.

Smith's was a grocery store that let slaves shop by themselves on Thursdays. Slaves took a bonded taxi service between the store and their homes, and used a cash-free billing system to buy groceries. It was as safe and secure as it could get for slaves and owners. 

"Nope, there's one about a mile away," Jake said. "Do you want to shop for food?"

She smiled. "Yes! Yes, please. I have account. If you could change the owner information and set a limit, I could get groceries for the week and make really good meals, Master. You can add your information online, on their website. Please." She looked at him hopefully.

He pretended to consider the offer but really, once he discovered she had dimples, it was all over.

"OK," he said slowly. "It's going to be a pretty small budget for just the two of us."

She nodded vigorously.

Good meals, no more grocery shopping, an excellent house cleaner, and a slave who was not a discipline problem and had dimples. This was a pretty good day.

Only one thing would make it better.

"Any good at blow jobs?" he said. 

There were those dimples again. "I used to be," she said sweetly. "But I need a lot of practice." She dropped to her knees and began to unbutton his jeans. "Lots and lots of practice . . ." She gently drew his cock out of his boxers and kissed the tip. Licking gently down the length, she nuzzled his balls and reached up to fondle his sac. "Practice . . ." she said softly and wrapped her lips around the head and began to suck. Down and down she took him. Holy . . . no gagging . . . she breathed against his pubes and sucked and slowly drew back. This was crazy and very, very nice. Back and forth she sucked powerfully on his whole length. He wasn't going to last – yup, his balls began to draw up and he managed to say "I think – " before he started cumming down her throat. She didn't stop sucking as he came and she swallowed his cum with no problem.

She slid her mouth off him and paused as that last drop came out. A little lick and a kiss and she was tucking him back into his boxers.

Definitely a good day.


	6. Inspection

After updating the website at Smith's and setting a reasonable budget, he decided it was inspection time. He led her up the stairs to the bedroom and spread her out on top of the covers on her back. He straddled her hips and started at the top of her head, nuzzling and kissing his way down her body.

She had dark blonde hair, still in the braid with the twist tie at the end. Green eyes. She had small scars on her face, especially on her cheek bones and around her eyes, probably from smacks that needed stitches and didn't get them. She did not have pierced ears. She had thick ropey scars around the right side of her neck about an inch apart – a collar that was too tight or got pulled too hard in one direction. He kissed the scars and continued the examination.

After checking several times with his tongue and teeth, he was satisfied her nipples were not pierced. She had the stretch marks on her lower abdomen. Her belly button was not pierced but she made a nice little squeak when he confirmed this with his tongue. She had a red raised scar on her hip. 

"Fourth Master?" he asked. It looked fairly new.

She nodded. "Whip," she said. 

Fourth Master was also responsible for the broken pinkie finger that healed without being set and the giant fading bruise on her side below her ribs ("Master's boots," she said when he asked.) The fact that two of her toes didn't have nails was a gift from Fourth Master as were the shiny patches of skin on the inside of her thighs near her cunt. ("Burns?" he asked and she nodded.) 

He opened her folds and checked everything thoroughly. The hood of her clitoris was strangely ragged and seemed swollen. 

"Did something happen here?" he asked, touching it with the tip of his tongue.

"A piercing pulled out," she said.

Oh, ow. That must have been -- . Yeah. Jesus. He couldn't imagine.

He inspected the inside of her vagina with his finger. Nothing seemed wrong but it was good to be sure. Two fingers. He stroked the walls, looking for imperfections, until she started breathing heavily and arching her back. Three fingers. She pressed her pelvis onto his fingers and moaned. He pulled his slippery fingers out as she snorted in frustration.

"Roll over," he said.

She stretched out onto her belly and he started at the top again. Not too many whip marks on her skin. Some bruising on her ass – oh, yeah, that was from him, spanking her on the first night. Can't remember why he did that anymore, so he kissed all the bruises gently to help them heal. More burn marks on her legs including a round one that looked like a cigarette. Fourth Master, you're definitely a piece of shit, he thought.

She was still arching her back and gently trying to rub herself against the covers. He peeled off his jeans and boxers and slid his cock into her from behind. Her hips were nice. Not too bony, not too small, just nice places to rest his hands. He liked the size of her tits, too. Nice handfuls but not too big. He patted her ass as he gently thrust into her.

"You feel nice, baby," he said.

"Thank you, Master," she mumbled into the mattress. She seemed to be having a good time, pushing back against him, and following his rhythm. He finished smoothly and stayed in as long as he could before he grabbed a tissue and wiped off. She seemed very relaxed.

"You want to take a bath or something?" he said.

She froze. "No? Thank you, Master?" she said in a strangely nervous way. Something about baths was a problem.

OK, finally he could do his rehab job! *This* was the training problem she had. Not discipline. Fear. He needed to figure out what she was afraid of and help her get over it so she could be returned to the Authority and sold. Time to start talking.


	7. Pandas

They talked for days, off and on. She said a few things about the sadistic Fourth Master and the Third Master who played mind games but she got defensive and unhelpful when he pressed for details. He decided to take it slow.

In between talking, he went to work, stopping back at lunchtime to see how she was doing. She washed his clothes and cleaned the house. On Wednesday, he stopped at the Authority to pick up the tunic and sandals slaves wore when they travelled. They gave it to him for free because he was a rehabber and, because he could, he got the deluxe tunic lined with slippery fabric with the semi-fancy belt and decorative stitching around the sleeves and at the bottom. The sandals were gold with flat soles and laces that went up to the knee. He also got her a cheap smart phone so he could track her movements and send her texts. On the way home he popped into the Quik-Mart for another six pack and, on impulse, picked up a set of little girl ponytail holders with panda faces on the ends. More dignified than a twist tie, if not by much.  
Her reaction was spectacular. She was thrilled and hugged and kissed the underside of his chin, which was the highest part of him she could reach if he didn't bend down. She'd never used a smart phone before so it was "amazing" and she "didn't know how to thank him." The pandas went straight onto her hair and she happily modeled the tunic and sandals. He was pleased the lined one was not really see-through and wouldn't irritate her nipples. She was all set for Smith's.

She started to make a list of what to buy. 

"Master?" she said, thoughtfully. "How long am I . . . should I buy things that I need, like a razor, or should I not plan to be here that long . . . ?"

"You're going to be here for several months," he said firmly.

"Oh!" she said and she smiled. He smiled. She was happy to be here. He was happy about that.

The next day, he tried to focus on his work and not keep checking the tracking app on his phone. She seemed to go right from the house to Smith's and back again, but he sent her a text to be sure.

Jake: Everything go ok at the store? 

Elena: Yes! It's the same one I used to go to

Makes sense. All four of her previous masters lived one or two towns away.

At 5:00, he came through the door to the smell of something wonderful. The fridge was packed. The freezer had ice cream. She was sitting on the couch in the study with a small pile of his clothes, doing something with her hands. 

"What's up with that stuff?" he said.

"I'm mending them," she said.

He looked blankly at her.

"I got a sewing kit at Smith's," she said. "I'm fixing the belt loop on these pants and putting a button on that shirt. That kind of thing."

Mending. Freaky. 

For the next week, they ate great. She made him lunches that had healthy food. She even got him to try unusual vegetables by sucking his cock as he ate them. The plan worked fine until Brussels sprouts, which even her most creative attempts at distraction couldn't help him enjoy.

They fucked a lot. She was playful and happy most of the time and had a really good feel for what he liked. 

For example, she liked to cook naked, with an apron that mostly covered her. One night after dinner she stood close to him as he leaned over the counter reading the sports section of the paper. 

"Yes?" he said curiously.

"Doctor," she said quietly. "I have small burn right here." She pointed to a tiny red dot on the side of her breast.

"Hmm," he said, playing along. "This calls for a closer examination." He put her up on the counter and inspected the tiny burn, the rest of her breast, the other breast ("for comparison purposes") and cleared his throat meaningfully.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is very serious."

"It is?" she said with a breathy gasp. "Oh, Doctor, are you sure?"

"Yes," he said. "It's life or death. You need – " he paused dramatically – "an injection."

"Oh, yes, doctor, I must have – "she paused -- "the injection."

Fucking was not the problem.

The problem was that she refused to let him control her without her consent. If he tried to act like a traditional master and demand submission because she was a *slave* and he was a *master*, she lashed out.

The worst incident was one morning when they were lying in bed together and she started to roll off the mattress to go to the bathroom.

"No," he said. "Stay here."

"I am just going to pee," she said.

"I said 'stay here,'" he said, firmly. "Now lie back down."

"Master, I really have to go," she said.

He looked at her and pushed her down on her back. "Stay here until I say you can go," he said. 

She clenched her teeth and glared at him, lying stiffly beside him. He took his hand off her chest and leaned back.

In an instant, she was on her feet, squatting over his pillow – his pillow! – and drenching it in her pee. She stared him right in the eye as she urinated and he gaped at her. What the actual fuck!?

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted.

She finished and stood up without taking her eyes off him. He grabbed her arm and dragged her down to the playroom. He shoved her up against the wall and rooted around with one hand until he found the riding crop. Forgetting his general rule about not beating slaves when he was angry, he started wailing on her legs and ass. She clenched her teeth and tried to breathe through her nose without making any noise.

Finally, after more strokes than he could count, he started to calm down. He spun her around and leaned into her face.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" he asked.

She met his eyes and glared at him. "I'd rather have welts than a bladder infection," she said.

That was the stupidest – ok, it wasn't actually that stupid, it was just . . . just . . . rude. "Don't pee on my stuff," he said into her face.

She sneered at him. "Oh, you don't like sleeping in a puddle? It's not so bad. You get used to it," she said mockingly.

Fuck, was she still mad about that first night? When he forgot about her and she slept in pee for a while? Well, too bad! She was a slave. Sometimes life sucked. 

But it still bothered him that she was right and he'd made a mistake as a trainer. He shoved himself away from her.

"Wash the fucking pillow," he said. "It better smell great when you're done."

Then he went to work.


	8. Arrest

Work was stressful. He had an open case that he couldn't make any progress on but couldn't stop thinking about. For two days, he gave Elena the silent treatment and went in early and stayed at late at the station, reviewing the case file, and trying to come up with anything new.

Exhausted, he came home and reviewed the case file on the laptop in his study. She was lying on her stomach behind him, reading the newspaper in front of the fire on the furry rug.

Something caught her attention. 

"Master," she said quietly. "What's that you're watching?"

She had come up behind him and was cautiously looking at the screen. 

"It's the live stream of the surveillance video camera in the detention cells at the station," he told her. It showed two girls huddled together in a corner of the cell, whispering to each other. He turned the volume all the way up but he couldn't make out what they were staying.

"Are those girls in trouble?" she asked.

"Not really. I think they are witnesses to a crime. They were discovered covered in blood that wasn't theirs, but they won't say whose blood it is.   
They won't talk to us at all," he said.

I bet they won't, she thought. She started to weigh her next action very carefully. Master was . . . not as bad as some. This house was pretty comfortable. She didn't trust him, of course, and had to be careful to let him think that she was still broken so he wouldn't give her back to the Authority too soon. If she helped him, would that make him more likely to keep her or more likely to give her back? 

She looked at the girls in the cell again. They were scared. They needed someone to help them and it probably had to be her.

She sank onto her knees by the wheels of his swivel chair and held up her wrists.

He looked puzzled.

"Arrest me," she said.

Master was not dumb. He put all the pieces together very quickly, in fact, and she was pleased she didn't have to walk him through the plan step by step.

First, though, he put in a call to his lieutenant. 

"Hey," he said into the phone. "I think I got a break on the Highway 10 case. My slave Elena recognized that the girls we have in holding are slaves so she's going to go in and try to get close to them. They'll probably talk to her and then we can move forward."

She was pleased he gave her credit; he didn't have to do that.

A few minutes later she was ready. She had to go in as a free person because slaves with collars were held in a different cell. The tunic and sandals would also be a give-away. She wore his old workout t-shirt and a pair of shorts held up by a cord from a sweatshirt. She had on his shower shoes and her hair was loose and messed up. 

Last thing. She moved over to the kitchen counter and braced herself. To look like an abused runaway, she had to look abused. She nodded at him.

Oops, too hard. She fell heavily to the floor when he backhanded her, so he had to help her up and put her shoes back on. 

"Sorry about that," he said. 

She waved him away. She was fine. Let's go.

He walked her over to the station and went around to the back door where the cells were. He handed her off to the duty officer, not letting him know anything more than he needed her in protective custody overnight. Then he walked home to watch her on the laptop.

It was pretty boring, actually. The other girls were cautious around her at first but within about five minutes, all three of them were huddled up, whispering, and touching each other gently. The touches looked a little odd. Like they were deliberate. Like . . . signals. Holy crap, like baseball signs – they were talking through little touches and body movements. Right out in the open and he had never, ever, noticed slaves talking to each other. Suddenly the boring surveillance footage was not so boring.

He went to sleep after they turned the lights out in her cell and got up early so he could be there at 6:00am when they came back on.

He kept out of sight as the duty officer brought her back to the check out desk. She looked a little tired, but otherwise ok.

"How did it go?" he asked quietly.

"I have some information. Do you want me to tell you now?" she said. 

"Upstairs," he said. "Let's go to my desk."

As they walked through the building, she sorted how she would tell the story so it protected the girls in the cell. She owed Jake something but definitely not everything. On the way, they ran into Jake's lieutenant, who wanted to meet Elena and hear what she found out. 

"Talk," he said as she walked into his office. She moved to kneel by his desk, but the boss pushed her into a chair. "Can't see you on the floor."

She looked at Jake, who signaled her to begin. 

"The girls are slaves. They did not run away. Their master took their collars off and drove them to the highway and told them to run. He had done a bad thing and was going to go somewhere and hide," she began.

She could see them about to ask questions, so she continued. 

"Their master hurt many people. The girls said he brought people back to the house and hit them and threatened them and sometimes threatened to hurt their children if they didn't do what he wanted. The girls have many details, but they are very scared and will only share them with you if you can protect them," she said and looked at the lieutenant and Jake seriously. "Three days ago, their master kidnapped a baby and a little boy. He hit the boy too hard and he died. That's where all the blood came from. Their master is on the run with the baby."

The men caught each other's eye.

"Who is their master, Elena?" Jake asked.

"Tony Marchetti," she said.

Shit, Jake thought. This is bad. Huge. The Marchettis were a powerful, connected, family that owned dozens of businesses, legal and otherwise. Tony was the enforcer, the brother who made sure the employees and business partners did what they were told. 

On the other hand, this was great. His slave – his! – had made an important breakthrough on a case that had the other guys stumped for days. (Assuming everything checked out, he added to himself.) But now they had leads – they could connect with the guys from Major Crimes who could tell him everything about Tony Marchetti and if those girls in holding were willing to tell him details, he could maybe close some of his other open cases . . . 

He looked at Elena, who looked tired and small in his t-shirt and shorts. He reached over to put his hand on her arm and she looked at him.

"Thank you," he said.

Tiny smile. 

"Food, drink, shower, sleep?" he said. 

Bigger smile.

"Ok with you, Lieutenant?" he said.

The boss waved them out of his office as he began dialing SlaveCare, the agency that arranged for compassionate care for slaves. That, Elena thought, was the right move. If he'd called the Authority and had them returned for re-sale, she would never help Jake again. With SlaveCare, the girls could be as protected as possible. God, she was tired.

Jake was secretly thrilled she held his hand all the way back to the house.


	9. G Rated

She slept most of the day, so he ran a few local errands and made frequent stops between the house and the station, checking on his slave and his case.

When she woke up, he had a present for her. Sleepily, she sat up in the bed and took the small card from his hand.

"Oh!" she said quietly as she realized what it was. A library card. "It's a G rated card, Master," she said, looking at him to make sure he knew that.

He nodded. He did know. S cards meant that she could only look at slave rated materials – nothing too inflammatory or political. R rated meant she could look but she couldn't check out anything. G rated meant she could use the library just like anybody else. 

She hugged the card to her chest. She had never had a G rated card, ever. She didn't know any slaves that did. He had no idea how wonderful this was.   
She looked up at him and saw his big grin and a icy-cold realization gripped her stomach.

He wasn't going to let her use it. He was going to give her the card and then say she was fixed and he was going to give her back to the Authority and she was never, ever, going to go to the library because her next master would never let her and . . . and . . . 

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't go back in the cage. She had shoes and a phone and a library card and she never wanted to be stripped and sold and . . . 

She started to slide off the bed and flatten herself to go under something where Master's boots couldn't kick her . . . 

Jake saw her start to lose it. She's not scared of the library, was she? Was this a bad present? He made a grab for her as she oozed off the mattress and just missed as she disappeared under the bed. 

He bent down and peered at her. She was shaking and sweating, but not whispering and peeing. Baby steps, Jake, he thought. Baby steps.


	10. Mint Chip

Not knowing what else to do, he got the polar fleece blanket off the couch and pushed it under the bed so she could reach it. Then he went back down into the study to look at his laptop and see if she reappeared.

It took about 20 minutes, but she came in, put the folded blanket back on the couch, and knelt by his swivel chair.

"Ok?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Can you tell me what that was about?" he asked

She cleared her throat. "I was worried about going back to the Authority. I'm not sure . . . it's going to be . . . I guess I should make sure the cage is clean so you can call them to pick me up." She started to get up.

"The what? The cage? Why are you going to get in the cage?" he asked.

Maybe Master wasn't that bright after all, she thought to herself.

"If I'm fixed enough to use the library, then I'm fixed enough to be sold," she said.  
"Who told you that? You're fixed when I say you're fixed and that's not going to be for several more months," he said firmly.

It's already been a month, she though. Is it just going to be "several more months" indefinitely? If he waited eight months to turn her in, she'd be 30 and there wouldn't be a Master Number Six, just a few minutes with Needle Number One and game over.

Maybe that's his plan. Maybe that was ok with her.

"Well, if you don't think I'm ready to go back to the Authority, I should go shopping," she said. "It's Thursday." She pulled off his oversized t-shirt and stepped up to the desk so he could put her collar back on. He kissed her mouth. 

"You did really good today," he said. "The girls are out of the cells and into a foster placement under fake names. Major Crimes is working on finding Tony Marchetti and Forensics is going over his house to look for bodies" he looked at her to see how gross she found his shop talk "and blood and stuff."

She didn't seem upset. "The girls said they knew about some of the other children he kidnapped." she said. "Names or descriptions."

"Would they tell them to me?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I doubt it," she said.

"Would you mind going over it with them?" he said. "Maybe working with a sketch artist?" 

"I don't mind," she said. "I'd like to help. But I should probably call the taxi before they get too busy."

She got changed into her tunic and was ready to go when the cab pulled up. He walked her out to the curb and kissed her again.

"Get mint chip," he said. "See you tonight."


	11. Dessert

He texted her from the station while she was shopping.

Jake: invited Lieutenant over for dinner tomorrow night. Make something really good

Elena: Is the Lieutenant Catholic?

Jake: ? Why?

Elena: On Fridays during Lent, some Catholic people eat only fish

Jake: I'll ask

Jake: Fish.

 

On Friday, Jake opened the door of his house for the Lieutenant and let him go in first. This was not the first time his boss had been in his home but before, it was just for a beer after work and he hadn't cared what the place looked like. This time he cared and that made him nervous.

Elena met them just inside the door, wearing only an apron that covered her front. She was standing with her hands crossed behind her back, looking at the floor. 

"Good evening, Master, Sir. May I take your coats? Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Master, I have put out appetizers in the study," she said.

The Lieutenant gave her his coat and spent a long time watching her ass as she turned to hang it in the closet. "Nice," he said to Jake.

So far so good! Jake thought. 

The appetizers were some flaky pastry thing on little plates and tasted pretty good. After a few minutes, Elena came in and offered them white wine, which she poured into wine glasses that looked vaguely familiar. It was chilled and was also pretty good. Jake started to relax.

After eating a few flaky things and talking about job stuff, Elena let him know dinner was ready in the dining room. This was the first time he'd seen the top of his dining room table in maybe years – it was usually covered with papers and junk. This time it had a table cloth that also looked vaguely familiar and a small bowl with a candle floating in it. The plates were the usual ones but the silverware had been polished until it was super shiny. 

She brought out plates of food – fish, some kind of vegetables in sauce, and rice. The food was really good and there was plenty of it.

About halfway through the meal, the Lieutenant started to ask Jake about his career plans and explained what a huge deal it was that they had the information on Tony Marchetti. 

"What would you think of heading a major task force to look into all of the Marchettis' involvement with organized crime?" the Lieutenant said.

"I'd think that would be great," he said. "I have been looking into it enough to see there is a lot to check out. I have some ideas about other people to work with, if you're still taking names." 

"Let's talk about that tomorrow," his boss said as Elena deftly refilled his wine glass. "This slave of yours really did a good job with those girls," he said as he admired her side boob under the apron. "What's her name?" 

"Elena," Jake said.

"Nice," said the Lieutenant. "Had her long?" 

"Nope. She's a rehab project from the Authority," Jake said. "She goes back in a few months."

"Really?" the Lieutenant said. "I'll have to keep track of that."

Elena stood up and looked at the floor. "Master, if you and your guest would like dessert in the study, I have lit the fire." 

"That sounds nice," Jake said. "Lou, want to come this way?"

 

After dessert – some cakey thing and decaf coffee – the two men sat back in the wing chairs in front of the fire and talked about the task force. When the conversation slowed down, Elena walked quietly over to stand in front of the fire place.

She'd taken her apron off and brushed her hair out of its usual braid so it fanned out. She had her hands behind her back and was looking at the floor as usual but this time she flexed her shoulder blades so her boobs stuck out and stood with her feet a little wider apart so the firelight shown between her legs. 

"Can I offer you gentleman anything else?" she said.

"I could use a little refreshment," the Lieutenant said, spreading his legs.

After a respectful glance at Jake, who gave a small nod, she smoothly knelt between the older man's legs. Her expression was neutral and she did not look up any higher than the man's waist. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Using both her hands, she unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper. His boxers were loose and he was mostly hard, so she had no trouble freeing his cock. 

Jake watched as she kissed and licked down the length of the Lieutenant's dick and sucked on his balls while her hand stroked his shaft. She moved to swallow him down and bobbed her head without touching him with her hands. 

The Lieutenant groaned as she took him down to the root and reached out to grab her hair.

"Come on, bitch," he said. "Take it. Oh, you fucking slut. Yeah, just like that."

He pressed on the back of her head with his hand, holding her tight against him.

Jake could see she was fighting not to pull back or choke. His boss was cutting off her air but she never lifted her hands from her thighs or attempted to fight him. Jake wondered if he should say or do something before she passed out but really couldn't see himself getting involved in this. 

Finally, the Lieutenant grunted and shot his cum down her throat. "Yeah, you loved that," he said as he released her head. "That was a nice face fucking wasn't it, bitch? Right?"

She rocked back onto her heels and looked at the floor. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for letting me pleasure you," she said.

"Damn straight," he said. He reached out to pinch her nipples. "I bet these rehab projects just love to be fucked, don't they, Jake? I bet they just didn't get enough fucking and that's why they got sent back. Good thing you're young and can keep them filled up." He grabbed her breast and pulled her into his lap with his other hand. "Ah, this one's nice and soft. Nice big ass." He squeezed her ass cheek with one hand and turned her face to his with the other. "Not too bad looking. I bet the Authority will get a nice price for her when she's fixed." He pushed her off his lap as he stood up.

"Well, Jake," he said. "I gotta go. Talk with you about the Marchetti business on Monday. Take care." 

Elena followed them into the hall and helped the Lieutenant into his coat. By the time Jake was done saying good bye and locking the door, she had disappeared back into the kitchen.

He figured she had some cleaning up to do, so he went upstairs to the bedroom.

 

Elena knelt by the refrigerator in the dark kitchen, leaning on its cold metal side, and thought about the evening, sorting through everything she was feeling. She was pleased with the dinner and how the house looked. She was proud to help Jake entertain his boss and happy that the Lieutenant was impressed. She knew she would be expected to offer herself to the man as dessert. It was part of being a house slave. But when she looked at Jake before kneeling before his boss, she wanted, just for a moment -- she wanted him to say "no." That she didn't have to give his boss a blow job. And that was stupid. She was so mad at herself – she had built up a stupid fantasy that, what? That Jake loved her? Jake was an ok guy but a terrible master -- the fact that he thought of himself as this experienced rehabber and superowner and he let her pee on his fucking pillow and didn't say "boo" was frankly hilarious but it only meant was he a dumbass who let slaves walk all over him, not that he had any concept she was an actual person. And dreaming they weren't owner and slave, that they were boyfriend and girlfriend, and she was shopping for him and cleaning *their* house and the playing and joking and fucking was because he wanted her to be happy and content and live with him forever just meant she was a stupid fucking bitch. Wake the fuck up. Jake gave her to his boss because she was a stupid slave whore and he would never love her because she was a *thing*. What an idiot! She had had *five* masters and she still didn't get the basic fucking fact that masters didn't love slaves and slaves should never fall in love with masters.  
She never cried and never made a sound but she sank into despair and self-recrimination until she could hear that Jake was asleep and she didn't have to let him see her this way.


	12. One of the Good Ones

The next morning, she was sleeping next to him in the bed and he spooned up behind her. She woke up and pressed her ass into his half-hard cock and snuggled her back into his chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist and petted her breast with his thumb.

Some questions had occurred to him as he waited for her to come to bed last night and now it was time to play Jake the Detective. 

First question, an easy one: "That dinner was really good last night. What was in those flaky things?"

He could see her cheek rise up as she smiled. "A feta cheese and olive tapenade. I'm sorry they weren't warmer . . . "

He kissed the back of her neck.

Question two, a little harder: "Those wine glasses looked familiar. Where did you get them?"

She stopped smiling and started stroking the back of his hand. "I found them in the closet next to the back door in a box marked 'Diane Wedding.' Was it ok to use them? I wasn't sure."

He kissed her shoulder. "Oh, yeah, I remember them. My Aunt Diane got married and then her husband left her and she gave us all the wedding presents.   
They've been in that closet for years. This house used to be my parents and half the stuff in this house is theirs. Sure, it was fine to use them."

Third question, the hardest: "How about that white wine? I know we didn't have that in the house."

She stiffened and tried to turn to look at him. He tightened his arm against her and refused to let her move. He knew she wanted to see his face when she told him so she could edit the story to make him less mad. There had to be a story. Slaves weren't allowed to buy alcohol. Did she steal it? Did she pay for it with her body? He was going to hold her there until she told him everything.

"I got it as Smith's," she said quietly.

She tried to turn again and he squeezed her middle. She started to try to bring her knees up and he threw his leg over her, pinning her down.

She sighed. "I know all the people who work at Smith's. All the cashiers and managers and the people who stock the shelves. They know me and they know I want to help the other slaves. All the slaves . . . we look out for each other when we can. There's always one or two who need help – they need to eat or they need medical care or they just don't know what to do. The ones with good masters help the others and then the people at Smith's help, too," she squirmed again but he held her down.

"There was a girl at Smith's who needed to eat and I had a little extra in my budget, so I bought her bread and milk and made sure she ate it. The manager at Smith's – he's really nice and he cares about us – talked to me about what I was making for dinner and he said I needed to serve white wine with fish, so he bought a bottle and gave it to me."

She held very still and listened to his breathing. Was he mad? Did he believe her? The story happened to be the truth and would check out if he went to Smith's but she really did not want him to talk to the manager, because it would get them all in trouble. 

Finally, he said "that was really nice of him" and moved his arm and leg off her. He believed her. He wasn't mad. She turned and searched his face and he seemed fine but she needed to feel him to be sure.

She leaned over and hugged him. "I am one of the ones with a good master, just in case that wasn't clear," she said, kissing him and spreading her legs over his hips.

He smiled at her. He could live with that.


	13. Peachy

On Monday, he got home from work and the lights in the front hall and the kitchen were off. The house smelled like something in the oven but he didn't hear her moving around.

"Elena?" he called.

"In the study, Master," she said.

He opened the door to the study and beheld the sight of Elena kneeling before the fireplace on the furry rug. The lights were off and her naked skin looked golden in the firelight. Her hair was loose and hanging on either side of her bowed head. Her hands were on her thighs, palms turned up in a perfect posture of submission.

This was very, very interesting.

"Master," she said. "I have been disobedient and offer myself to you for punishment."

Dang, he thought. "Tell me what you did," he said, seriously, faintly aware that his pants were getting smaller.

"I opened a letter addressed to you. It was marked 'urgent' and came from your accountants. It was a request for documents so they could prepare your return."

Oh, shit, he thought. He had no idea where the tax papers were in his chaotic filing system and it would be a nightmare to pull them together in time.

"I organized all of your financial documents and filed them, putting the ones the accountants would need in a special folder. I also created a bag of papers to be shredded."

He looked at his desk, which was oddly shiny. There were no papers piled on it. He could see the bare wood. He looked at the filing cabinet behind his desk, which now had labels on the drawers and a bulging paper bag next to it.

She hadn't moved from her position. "I opened your mail without permission. I examined your personal papers without permission. I touched your desk without permission."

"That's true," he said.

"I disobeyed you a second time, Master. I noticed that your cable bill was very high, so I called the company and arranged for you to receive an extra sports package and for them to reduce your bill by $100 a month for 12 months. To do so, I had to pretend to be your wife."

She lifted her ass from the soles of her feet and raised it high in the air, pressing her chest into the rug and stretching out her arms. 

"I offer myself to you for punishment," she said, again.

Jesus. The firelight on her perfect, peachy ass was too much. He couldn't fucking think. She definitely wanted him to punish her, right?

He unbuttoned his pants and dropped everything covering his massive hard-on to the floor. He sat on the couch in front of the fire. "You must be punished. Come over here."

Without looking up, she moved to the couch and draped herself over his lap, pretty much sticking her ass in his face. He caressed her cheeks and tried to breathe as she brushed her breasts against his leg and parted her thighs so he could easily reach . . . everything.

He started to spank her. "You acted without my permission," he said as he reddened her bottom.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You disobeyed me," he said.

"Yes, Master." 

"I must teach you to behave," he said.

"Yes, Master."

"If you love me, you must obey me," he said.

There was an odd hitch in her voice. "Yes, Master," she said.

"I must make sure you understand," he said as he parted her cheeks and began to run his finger around her hole. It was very clean and rosy. 

His eye caught something glinting on his desk, pretty much the only item left on its super clean surface. A tiny bottle of lube within arm's reach.   
Well, that's convenient, he though, as he poured some onto his hand and began to push a finger into her opening. He inserted a second finger and began to scissors them to loosen her up. Very convenient indeed.

He turned her so she was kneeling down on the furry rug with her ass in the air. A little more lube for his dick and he slid into her easily. A moment to let her adjust and he began to move in and out as he knelt behind her.

Wait a second. That lube was too convenient. She did that on purpose. I've been manipulated! He thought himself. I have been manipulated into anal sex And I'm Loving It! He grinned happily as he reached around to finger her clit. This is the most stupid sexy fun punishment session ever. God damn, this was nice. He rubbed the top of her back.

"You ok up there?" he said.

"Yup," she said from under all her hair. 

"You definitely wanted to be fucked in the ass, right?" he said.

"Yup," she said.

Huh. You just never know. He sped up and finished with a big push and a tight grip on her hips. 

"You got a towel around here or something?" he said.

She turned to face him with a big grin. "Under the couch," she said.

He wiped them both off and curled up around her on the fuzzy rug in front of the fire. "Did you really do all that tax stuff?" he asked.

"Yup. My second master was a CPA and I figured I could put together a package for your accountants pretty well. I also included the figures for them to look at to see if you can claim your study as a home office."

"And the cable company?"

"Oh, yes, that was pretty easy. The bill will go up in a year, but then you can see what other discounts you qualify for."

"Not cool to say you're my wife, though."

"I know, Master," she said. "I'm sorry about that."

Dinner was in front of the fire that night, with some fooling around on the shiny desk and some on the rug.


	14. Bathing

After dinner he decided they needed to make some progress on her rehabilitation. It was time for a bath.

She absolutely, definitely, permanently, and seriously did not want to. She knew she couldn't tell him no, exactly, but she did everything she could to put off actually stepping into the warm water until maybe . . . never. Even after he climbed in and offered to hold her the whole time, she still had a hard time actually putting her body in the tub and sitting down. She closed her eyes and did it.

"OK," he said. "Tell me about tubs. Fourth Master?"

Third and Fourth, it turned out. Jake rubbed her back and petted her hair as the story slowly came out. 

Third Master was a banker who had money and several slaves but no family. He had a beautiful home and travelled a lot. When he was home, he controlled the slaves obsessively. One was basically a dog and crawled around after him. One was like his mother, with lots of breastfeeding and baby talk. Elena was a sick daughter/wife combination. His obsession was being thanked for everything (that's where that came from, Jake thought.) She had to thank him when he offered her food, when she ate the food, and when he stuck his finger down her throat and made her throw up the food. She thanked him for each pregnancy and each abortion. She thanked him for sex, beatings, kisses, being dangled out a window and, most often, for the very air she breathed. Tubs weren't about bathing. They were about breathing.

He liked to submerge her at that exact level where the water of the tub would cover her mouth and start to fill her nose. If she struggled, he would simply push her under until she went limp. For hours, he would make minute adjustments to her face to find that perfect spot. All while telling her that she was beautiful and perfect and that she would thank him later.

And she did. Every time. 

"He sounds like a very sick man," Jake said.

"Yes. He was . . . " she paused to consider what Jake would say if she criticized another master. She decided to trust him. "He was creepy." Jake didn't react, so she went on. "After each miscarriage, he would spend a long time touching the . . . fetus. Rubbing his fingers in the blood and saying 'beautiful, beautiful.'"

"Jesus," Jake said.

Fourth Master, the fire chief, was much more straightforward. He was impotent, so straight sex didn't happen. He just liked to cause pain. He also liked to push her face down in the tub, but he was much more likely to make the water too hot or too cold or tie her up and throw her in. He liked to make her run behind the tractor or tie her up outside in the winter. He would insert things into her, including that clitoral ring that pulled out, and then run an electric current through them. Elena and the Chief's male slave would be made to hurt each other or kiss and fuck for his amusement. 

Elena got very sad when she thought about the male slave, who probably died in the fire. 

The fire was well timed, in a way, because the Chief was planning to pull her teeth out for accidently biting the male slave during oral sex while Master was beating her.

"And you have such nice teeth," Jake said, while kissing her neck.

"Well, yes," she said. "Daddy is a wonderful dentist."

"Daddy?" Jake asked.

She blushed. "My first and second masters liked to be called 'Daddy'." 

The water was getting cold, so they moved to the bed under the covers and snuggled close to each other. 

Daddy the dentist was her first master. 

Daddy the CPA was her second. She was with him for a long time, from when she was twelve to twenty-two, and she, clearly, loved him to pieces. He gave her a library card (R level, Jake noted) and let her watch tv and taught her everything she ever wanted to know about anything. (Including the Fibonacci sequence, Jake confirmed.) She helped in the office, took care of his house, and was treated like a daughter he could have sex with. She was devastated when he married late in life and the new wife hated her and made him give her to the banker.

"Give?" Jake asked.

"Yes," Elena said. She had changed owners three times but they had all been private sales, never through the Authority. All of her owners knew each other and were friends. Jake was the first owner she had had whom she had never met before.

"That can't be right," Jake said. "Private sales were outlawed ten years ago. A public servant like a fire chief definitely would have to go through the Authority."

Elena shrugged. She could only tell him what she had experienced.

It was late. The story of Daddy the dentist would have to wait.


	15. Double Stuffed

"Jake!" his Lieutenant shouted. "Answer your fucking phone!"

He was out at Tony Marchetti's house with the Lieutenant and some of the Forensics team. Shit, the ringer was off and he missed three calls from the station.

"This is Jake," he said. 

"Detective, we have your slave Elena. She says she needs to report a theft and major property damage. We think you should get down here," an officer he didn't know said. 

"Lieutenant, I gotta head back," he called as he jogged back to his car.

 

He rounded the corner from the lobby and saw her. She was kneeling by his desk with her arms wrapped around her middle. She had no shoes, her tunic was dirty, and her hair was messy with leaves and sticks in it. She was clutching a small strip of paper in her hand. 

"What happened?" he asked the officer who'd called him – Dawson.

"We found her on the bridge over the train tracks on the side of the road. She was unconscious but woke up when we started looking for her id. She insisted she needed to speak to you right away. She didn't seem too bloody or anything so we called you," he said.

"Thanks, ok," he said. "I'll take it from here."

He went over to her and sat in his desk chair. 

"Hey," he said to get her attention. "Theft and major property damage?"

She looked up at him. Oooh, there it is. Somebody had beat the shit out of her face. Still, punching someone else's slave is not, technically, a major crime. 

"Theft of groceries," she said, giving him the paper she was holding – the Smith's cash register receipt – "and major property damage over $500." 

She'd been raped. That was the charge for raping another person's slave.

Hospital time.

 

She had been coming back from Smith's using the bonded taxi service. The driver took a left instead of a right and drove her to a deserted picnic area, beat her up, and raped her. Then he pushed her out of the car on the bridge and drove off with the groceries.

She told him the story at the hospital while the doctor was examining her internally, which Jake thought was impressive multitasking. She didn't seem that upset about the rape, really, just mad about the situation in general.

"I'm ok," she said, when he asked."I'm pretty sturdy. It's the next kid, you know, Master? The one who can't go home and tell anybody. That's who I'm worried about." She paused and turned to him. "And he stole our groceries! I had cookies," she said, as she pretended to cry. "Oreos. Master, he has our Double-Stuffed Oreos!"

"I'll save them," he said, kissing her hand. "I will not rest until they have been returned to us."

The doctor shook his head. "Nutty," he said. 

 

She held his hand again as they walked through the hospital lobby. Suddenly she dropped down to kneel next to a row of chairs. Jake was aware that not that long ago, he would have just dragged any slave that did that out of the building and yelled at them for being disobedient, but he'd changed since working with Elena. 

He sat down in the chair closest to her and said "What's up?"

"That's him, Master. The driver. Outside the doors, tan jacket, dark pants, dark hair, smoking."

"Got it," he said. He led her over to the hospital security desk and showed the guards his badge. "I need this slave to stay here for a few minutes and I'll need one of you to come with me while I apprehend a suspect." The bigger of the guards followed him as Elena knelt in front of the desk.

Jake and the big guard went out to the sidewalk and stood on either side of the driver. He showed the driver his badge and asked for the man's id, which showed he was a driver for the bonded taxi service. "I'd like you to come with me," he said.

"Uh, why?" the man said. "Are you arresting me? What's the charge?" 

"Major property crime over $500 and theft," he said.

"Major property what?" he said.

"You fucked another man's slave," Jake said.

"What's wrong with that?" the driver said. "They're slaves! Nobody cares if you fuck 'em!" He started to move to leave as the bigger guard moved in close and put a hand on his arm.

"Fuck!" the driver said. "Look, I'll just pay the $500 bucks or something. Whose slave is it?" He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and something fell onto the ground. It was a little girl's ponytail holder with panda faces on the ends. 

"You're under arrest," he said and put his handcuffs on the driver. "And where the hell are my Oreos!?" he yelled into the man's face. 

The driver's expression was hilarious.

 

After lots of negotiations between the police and the taxi service, who took the violation of their bond very seriously, Jake was able to take Elena home. Their groceries had spent too long in the hot trunk of a taxi and were no longer recoverable, so Jake drove to Smith's in his long-neglected backup car, a Mustang convertible. He filled their shopping cart with snacks and desserts while she tried to sneak in a vegetable or two. They spent a long time picking out new ponytail holders (dolphins and kittens) and got two packages of Oreos. Jake got to meet the manager who bought them the wine and secretly confirmed her story and paid for the wine, over the man's objections. "Pay it forward!" the manager said.

Dinner preparations that night were a slow affair as Jake hugged her from behind and gently kissed her bruised face whenever she turned to respectfully ask him to move. When the hospital grade painkillers wore off and the exhaustion crept in, he spent a long time in the evening reassuring her that she didn't do anything wrong and that she had helped to take a dangerous man out of their community. They fell asleep wrapped around each other.


	16. Overlook

Over the next few days, Jake got the good news that Tony Marchetti and the baby had been picked up at a traffic stop and the baby returned to the parents. Elena, the police sketch artist, and Tony Marchetti's former slaves were making good progress identifying the kidnapping victims, as Jake and Major Crimes worked to build the case against him. The task force was coming together with Jake taking the lead. 

The weather was warm enough for Jake to take Elena out in the Mustang and screw around in the back seat like teenagers. One night they brought a picnic out to an isolated overlook and ate while looking over the town. 

"I think Daddy took me here once," she said. 

"Daddy the dentist or Daddy the CPA?" he asked.

She smiled. "Daddy the dentist," she said. "I'm probably due for a checkup. I wonder if he would still see me?"

"He's still your dentist?" Jake asked, surprised. Slaves don't often even go to the dentist and they don't usually keep in touch with their former masters. He'd definitely never heard back from any of his rehab projects.

"Yes, of course," she said. "Daddy sold me because I got too old, not because he didn't like me."

"Twelve is too old?" Jake asked.

She looked at him with an awkward expression. She didn't want to spell out what kind of person Daddy the dentist was, but fortunately Jake figured it out. 

"Not a breast man?" he asked.

"Nope," she said. "He said he paid a lot for me and only got to use me for three years, but he worked out a business arrangement with Daddy the CPA so he got his money's worth."

"Three years?" Jake asked. "Who owned you before you were 9?"

"Nobody," she said. "I lived with my family."

Jake looked skeptical. Slaves were born into slavery, not sold into it.

She nodded at him, confirming her own story. "Mom, Dad, older brother, dog, swingset, third grade, Sunday School, everything. No owner."

This was a very unusual story. "What happened? How did Daddy come into the picture?"

"He bought me from my parents, I guess. I don't know exactly. He said he paid a lot for me -- $16,000, which was a lot back then – and he loved me until I got too old."

$16,000 was an astounding amount of money for a slave in any time period, especially a 9 year old. He had a bad feeling about Daddy the dentist.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go back."

They drove back into town, but went to the police station instead of the house. Jake sat Elena down at his desk and went off, bringing back some huge binders with worn looking pages.

He pulled another chair up and sat next to her. "Was your name always Elena?" he asked, gently. "Do you remember your last name?"

She looked at him curiously. "I do remember but I'm not sure what you're thinking."

"Just tell me," he pressed.

"My name was Ellen Andrews," she said softly.

He flipped open the big Missing Persons printouts from twenty years ago and turned the pages slowly.

A soft little cry came from the woman next to him. She reached out a finger to touch the picture on one of the pages. A school photo of a gap toothed girl with braids smiled out of the binder. "They looked for me," she said, as tears started to fall. "They thought I was missing."

"Did Daddy tell you they didn't want you back? That they had sold you?" he said.

She nodded.

"Yeah, that's pretty common," Jake said, wrapping his arm around her. "That explains all the private sales, too. You weren't born a slave." He paused to let that news sink in. "You're not a slave now."

She covered her face and pulled away from him.

Jake looked around in the empty bureau room, wondering what was going to happen next. Sure, he was going to find out what happened twenty years ago and who kidnapped her and what family members were still around. He was definitely going to try to nail Daddy the dentist and all the other sick bastards who had owned her to the wall for kidnapping, child abuse, illegal restraint and whatever else he could come up with but really, the most important thing was what does Elena think of him now? Does she hate him? Does she want to even look at him?

He cleared his throat. "I need to call the Authority Center and let them know the situation," he said.

"Ok," she said from behind her hands.

"You, uh," he started. "You don't need to wear that . . . collar. Any more."

She nodded but didn't move toward him to get him to take it off.

"I want to help you with, um, clothes and stuff. If you'll let me," he said.

A wordless cry erupted from her and she bent over, holding her middle like she'd been stabbed. She started to scream and yell and kick the side of Jake's metal desk like she was trying to beat it to death.

Jake has no idea what to do, so he stood back and let her rage exhaust itself.

She gripped the edge of the desk and lifted her head to glare at him. "Get this fucking thing off my neck," she said.

She did hate him. Shit. He moved to undo the combination lock, making sure to avoid her teeth or fists in case she was madder than he thought.

She started to leave the bureau and he moved to stop her – it just wasn't safe for a woman in a slave tunic and sandals to be walking around by herself, collar or no collar.

"Don't fucking touch me," she said in a growl.

"Please be careful," he said.

She stomped out of the station. He could see where she was going – back to the house. He followed about half a block behind, not wanting to crowd her.

She had gone upstairs by the time he got to there. He could hear her rummaging around and waited until she came back down. 

She was wearing the t-shirt, shorts, and shower shoes she'd had on when she went undercover. She had her phone and her library card. She stopped when she saw him and glared at him. "Can I please take these?" she said slowly and careful through her clenched teeth.

"Sure," he said, "but . . . where are you going?"

"None of your fucking business," she said as she pushed past him out the door.


	17. Different

He waited about 10 seconds before he fired up the tracking app on her phone. She was walking to Smith's. He had nothing to say about that. He hoped she would be ok but he had no idea if she was going to live in the grocery store or just visit or what. It really was none of his fucking business but he really, really wanted to know what was going on with her. He wanted to take care of her.

Well, there was one thing he could do. He called the Authority Center and demanded to speak to the administrator, even though it was late. He explained the situation and made sure they updated their records while he was on the phone to show that Elena the slave no longer existed and that Ellen (aka Elena) Andrews was a free person. 

He had a long debate with himself about whether to send her a text to let her know her legal status or whether that would make her throw the phone away and he wouldn't be able to contact her. He decided information won.

Jake: I just wanted you to know I called the Authority and you're officially a free person.

Elena: Thank you. Now fuck off and die.

Jake: Not a problem

 

He made himself a sandwich and wondered if she was going to spend the night at Smith's. He decided to definitely check at the station in the morning to see if she was picked up overnight if she decided to walk somewhere else. Their town was pretty safe, but there were bad people everywhere. He hoped she would be ok.

It was about 2:00am when he heard the distinctive creak of the Mustang's door opening and padded downstairs in his bare feet to see what was going on.  
She was curled up in the back seat, clearly cold and uncomfortable.

"Please come inside," he begged her. "Just on the couch or anything. I'll turn the fire on."

She curled up tighter into herself and pressed her mouth into her knees. He'd never really seen her so beaten down. "I can't do anything," she said.  
"I have no . . . I can't drive a car. I don't know how to do anything with computers. I never thought about being old or having money or having a family. I can't even have children," she said sadly.

"You have friends," he said. "You have me."

She shook her head. "You think I’m a whore."

He was shocked. "I do not!" he said. 

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "I sucked your boss's dick in front of you. You know I'm a whore."

"No, but that's – that's different," he said.

"Why is it different?" she said.

"Because . . . because you were a slave and that's what they do," he said, lamely.

"That's what they do? Seriously? Why do you think that's what they do, Jake?" she said.

He tried to ignore the little thrill when she said his name.

"Ugh!" she said, sitting up and pulling the oversized shirt down over her legs. "This makes me crazy. There is no difference between me yesterday and me today except suddenly I'm a human and people are shocked and surprised to find out I have a brain."

He loved her like this – angry and articulate and not mad at him, he didn't think. Pretty sure she wasn't still mad at him.

"I always knew you were smart," he said. "Since the first night and the Fibonacci sequence."

She grinned at him. "You made a great face when I said 'thirteen,'" she said.

There was a little silence between them.

"Can I use your bathroom?" she said.

She spent the night on the fuzzy rug with the polar fleece blanket and a fire in the fireplace. He spent the night upstairs, alone in his bed, thinking of her while he jerked off as quietly as he could.

In the morning he made her an egg, just as he did on the first morning she was with him, and he tried not to badger her about her plans.

"I can show you basic computer stuff," he offered. "It might help you find a job or something . . . "

She looked thoughtful as she considered his offer. "OK," she said.


	18. A Complicated Way

She got a job at Smith's. SlaveCare helped her move out two days later into supported housing. He missed her and tried not to watch her phone obsessively on the tracking app. The Authority Center called and asked if he wanted another rehab project but he turned them down. He tried to focus on the task force.

 

"Detective!" The front desk sergeant called to him. "You have a visitor."

A woman was in the lobby, wearing a fancy white blouse, longish brown skirt, and her hair gathered up behind her neck in a complicated way. She had a decent figure with nice tits, which were currently bouncing up and down as she came toward him. 

Hey! he thought. I know those tits!

It was Elena, with nice, professional clothes, and a big grin. "Jake!" she called. "Are you free for lunch?"

"Why, yes, I am," he said.

"I got paid! I want to take you to lunch. Specifically," she said quietly as he came closer, "I want to take you to a lunch that costs less than $10. This free person lifestyle is expensive!"

"Let's go to Duke's," he said as he led her across the street to the diner where all the cops ate.

They went to the counter to order and they each got a sandwich and drink. 

"How much will that be?" she asked Duke, the owner.

"Oh, cops eat fr—" Duke started to say, but Jake made a furious gesture above Elena's head and held up four fingers.

"That will be $4.00, miss," Duke said smoothly as Jake gave him a thumbs up.

Yeah, he was going to have to come back over later and explain that one, but for now he was happy to see Elena carefully count out $4.00 and hand it over. As she leaned over to sit down, he could see straight down her blouse to get a good look at a lacy pink bra. She didn't seem to notice. She was beyond excited to be eating with a guest in a restaurant with a meal she had purchased with her own money. 

The job at Smith's turned out to be kind of a big deal. She was the head of their brand-new slave-owner relations department, which worked to make the Thursday program work for everybody. She also was a liaison with SlaveCare, so the underfed and abused slaves who turned up at Smith's could have some help beyond what the store staff and other slaves could do for them. She also worked part time at the library and was, apparently, happy. The fancy clothes came from a library patron who let her live at her house in exchange for cat sitting. She made friends. She was trying to save money and learn to drive. She missed cooking. She wanted to know if she get her own phone service but he waved her off. The thought of not being able to see her little phone icon on his tracking app made his heart hurt.

When she was done and he was just picking at his potato chips, she cleared her place and walked over to his side of the table and leaned down. She's going to kiss my cheek, he thought happily.

She brought her mouth next his ear and pinched all the short hair at the nape of his neck between her fingers, making him sit straight up and not move a muscle. 

"Oh, Master," she breathed into his ear. "I'm missed your cock so much. I need you inside me now, please, Master . . ." and then she was gone. He exhaled and tried to think about his painful erection as he watched her walk out of the diner, giving one of those not-accidental-at-all touches to the slave holding the door, step out onto the sunny sidewalk, and disappear.


End file.
